Standing at the edge of the HWY, it is easy for Carl to believe stars and humans share the same genesis — but at some juncture split and are now both compelled toward Earth.

Humans to briefly walk upon and then sink into its chemical engine with an expiring sigh while the stars, trapped in a gravity as certain as mortality, can only send their weak spectra to the reunion — almost as emissaries.

Lay below lay beneath.

Carl's breath is damp ruddy cotton in the neon of the MOTEL sign. He desperately wants to ruckus something up, but it's not in his nature.

Nature vs. desire as illustrated by his breathing, by his form looking across the highway through the moonlight not at nothing but at a wide clearing becoming blunt hillside and then the stars again.

He keeps his weight carefully centered betwen his boots, so as not to crack the gravel.

"Somebody has touched my bloodlust." Little ripples in a lava pond disturbed.

Carl feels lava flood across and beyond the road, filling the clearing beyond — maybe twelve feet deep. From within the night comes the sound of a truck.

"That tired man is going to plow right through my hate."

Turning his head left toward the now approaching headlights Carl thinks about crumple zones and which direction tires and engine might fly, explosions of safety glass glowing fiery and abundant. The vision is hot at the sandy roots of his eyes. What would it take? One step forward? Two?

Step inside.

Don't move.

Step inside.

As the truck barrels noisily past, Carl closes his eyes and leans forward to feel the gritty slipstream sucking at his clothing and hair, a magnetic feeling succumbed to by random bits of paper and other roadside debris. The sound of the truck fades.

"I can go to sleep now."